Wednesday, August 26, 2009
At the end of May I moved to San Antonio to live with a family friend and look for jobs. San Angelo, my home town, is a small town with little job opportunities, so I jumped at the chance to move to a bigger city where I felt like luck might be on my side.
It's almost September and I still don't have a steady job. I have one temp job I work 2 or 3 times a month and just started another temp assignment yesterday. I'm thankful for these opportunities because they provide a little extra cash, but I have definitely seen my bank account dwindle. It's the scariest thing in the world. I've been on countless interviews (more than 10), but with every promising interview comes another door in the face. At one point, I even had a chance at a dream job - A&E feature writer for the Temple Daily Telegram. I went to the interview and the editor seemed impressed with my skills. She showed me around the newsroom, introduced me to everyone, and it seemed like I had the job in the bag. Just one problem. When the salary issue came up they were not willing to pay me enough to live on my own. I explained I was single and had to support myself and relocate, but it didn't matter. I drove back to San Antonio sad, but also a little relieved. Temple, TX is not the most impressive place to live.
A gazillion interviews later, I'm really starting to feel the frustration of the whole situation. Up until now I've remained relatively calm and optimistic, but last week I cried and cried and cried and felt like I had reached the point of insanity. On Friday I planned to stay in bed, but luckily, my dear friend in Austin invited me to stay the weekend with her and I had a blast. It was a breath of fresh air.
I feel better this week. I went on an interview Monday, worked my temp assignment yesterday, go on a third round interview tomorrow, and also get to work my temp assignment again the rest of the week. It gives me some sense of security, but I know that I'm not guaranteed anything. It's especially heart breaking when you go on three rounds of interviews, do everything perfectly, and still get the door shut in your face.
Aside from job hunting, I have been living my life as normal - but without the luxuries I could afford when I had a job. These include things like: salon visits, shopping sprees, eating out, ballet classes (keep fit at home with yoga and NYCB workout videos), books (learned to use the library), etc. What I've learned from this is that possessions don't own my joy. Yes, I'd L-O-V-E to get my hair done, but I can be content and happy with how it is, knowing that someday I'll be able to afford it again.
What I'm mucho thankful for: family, friends, support, love, and the simple things in life.
Wednesday, August 12, 2009
Thou still unravish'd bride of quietness,
Thou foster-child of silence and slow time,
Sylvan historian, who canst thou express
A flowery tale more sweetly than our rhyme:
What leaf-fring'd legend haunt about thy shape
Of deities or mortals, or of both,
In Tempe or the dales of Arcady?
What men or gods are these? What maidens loth?
What mad pursuit? What struggle to escape?
What pipes and timbrels? What wild ecstasy?
Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard
Are sweeter: therefore, ye soft pipes, play on;
Not to the sensual ear, but, more endear'd,
Pipe to the spirit ditties of no tone:
Fair youth, beneath the trees, thou canst not leave
Thy song, nor ever can those trees be bare;
Bold lover, never, never canst thou kiss,
Though winning near the goal - yet, do not grieve;
She cannot fade, though thou hast not thy bliss,
For ever wilt thou love, and she be fair!
Ah, happy, happy boughs! that cannot shed
Your leaves, nor ever bid the spring adieu;
And, happy melodist, unwearied,
For ever piping songs for ever new;
More happy love! more happy, happy love!
For ever warm and still to be enjoy'd,
For ever panting, and for ever young;
All breathing human passion far above,
That leaves a heart high-sorrowful and cloy'd,
A burning forehead, and a parching tongue.
Who are these coming to the sacrifice?
To what green altar, O mysterious priest,
Lead'st thou that heifer lowing at the skies,
And all her silken flanks with garlands drest?
What little town by river or sea shore,
Or mountain-built with peaceful citadel,
Is emptied of this folk, this pious morn?
And, little town, thy streets for evermore
Will silent be; and not a soul to tell
Why thou art desolate, can e'er return.
O Attic shape! Fair attitude! with brede
Of marble men and maidens overwrought,
With forest branches and the trodden weed;
Thou, silent form, dost tease us out of thought
As doth eternity: Cold Pastoral!
When old age shall this generation waste,
Thou shalt remain, in midst of other woe
Than ours, a friend to man, to whom thou say'st,
"Beauty is truth, truth beauty," - that is all
Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know.